


Charming

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awesome Molly Hooper, Bathroom Sex, Crimes & Criminals, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Posh Totties, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Spanking, The Author Regrets Nothing, Topping from the Bottom, good girl goes bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: "I told you not to come back here- Princess..."A club. A criminal. A rich girl, looking for kicks and out of her depth.Molly Hooper's about to have one Helluva night...Commissioned by the lovely MizJoely, who has allowed me to share it with you. Enjoy!





	Charming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



_Disclaimer:_ This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Commissioned by the redoubtable MizJoely, who is now sharing it with all of you, since she believes (like me) that a filthy mind is a terrible thing to waste. Whether this takes place in the Bebopa-Sherlock universe is up to you: Enjoy!

* * *

**CHARMING**

* * *

"I told you not to come back here, princess."

And Molly turns, looks archly at the source of that voice.

As she does so the room falls silent, the import of her catching _his_ attention making everyone stop and stare.

_People who catch this man's attention don't tend to walk away unscathed, after all._

Still, Molly refuses to be cowed. _His sort don't respond well to that, she knows_. Instead she raises her head, cocks an eyebrow at him. She's the one with the power here, not him, she reminds herself. She's the one in silk and furs, diamonds and gold. She's the one with the trust fund, the flat in Knightsbridge. The education. The future.

_He's nothing but an East End wide-boy._

But even knowing that, she can't help the jolt which goes through her at the sight of him. Can't help the flutter of arousal which pulses through her body, sliding through her limbs and warming her like fine wine. He's silhouetted in the dim light of the club and she can just make out the lithe, fit body beneath that ridiculously tight suit and shirt. Can just see the spark of jewellery, a diamond stud at his ear, St Christopher medal nestled against the open shirt buttons at his throat. The blue and red lights have turned his dark curls into a halo and he must know... _Oh, he must know just how absolutely delicious he looks..._

His lips quirk in a smouldering smile and she is left in no doubt that he does- _Damn him._

Still he says nothing though, just continues to give her that same, insouciant grin.

Molly feels the first beginning of wetness in her knickers at the sight of it; with determined, deliberate grace he crosses the space between them, rolling up his shirt sleeve as he does so. His blue-green eyes are electric. Knowing. They rake over her body, staring at her in open appreciation as his tongue slides slowly, provocatively, along his lower lip. This close she can smell his cologne, his shampoo. Nicotine. Alcohol. _All the scents that make him, well,_ _ **him**_ _._ He's right in front of her now and she can't help it, she swallows, looking up at him from beneath her lashes-

They're so close their chests nearly touch. They breathe the same air. Exude the same body heat.

With slow deliberation he reaches out one finger, runs his it from her chin down her throat to her pulse point, then lower, sliding inside her dress to flutter over the valley between her breasts. Her pounding heart.

She shivers despite herself and his grin turns fierce.

"Everybody out!" he yells suddenly, making her jump. They're in the hallway outside the women's toilets and though the crowd grumbles, they scatter like so many pigeons. Nobody meets Molly's eye as they go; nobody 've no doubt what's coming, just as they've no doubt she brought it on herself.

_They all know she's playing with fire._

As soon as the hallway is cleared he grips the back of her neck, pulls her against him and hauls her inside the toilets. Two girls are just out of the stalls and redoing their makeup. He snaps at them to get out; neither dare disobey- One even leaves her handbag behind in her haste, tripping in her heels as she goes.

He doesn't waste time: With sure hands he picks Molly up, practically dumps her on the sink-top. Closes the door but doesn't lock it- He can't.

 _The lock's been screwed for years_ , _which means anyone could walk in on them…_

Before she can object though he's in front of her, sliding her skirt up over her knees and pushing her legs obscenely wide. Stepping in between them, one hand digging into her arse while the other continues to grip her neck. To make her look at him. Both hands slide suddenly down to her knees and he uses them to pull her to the edge of the sink, her backside sliding messily along the slick, cool tile, one of her shoes sent flying-

He steps in close- so close- and she can feel his hardening cock against the bare skin of her inner thigh, the fabric of his trouser-leg scratching against her.

Her hands are curling together with the effort of trying not to touch him.

"Plenty more where that came from, princess," he murmurs. His breath is hot and wet against her ear as he grinds himself into her. "You come in here dressed like that and you can expect to get what you're asking for-"

Molly tries for arch but she fears her voice is rather too breathy for that. "And what, pray tell, do you think I'm asking for?" she demands haughtily.

His grin turns wicked. Amused.

His grip on her tightens.

"I think you're asking for a filthy good fucking," he says, making sure to copy her clipped, posh pronunciation. " _Princess_." Another dark smile. "After all, that's what sweet little things like you always want, when they come looking for a bad man like me-"

And before she can answer him back he slides his hand roughly up her skirt, the heel of his palm pressing against her clit while his long, elegant fingers cup her mound. Knead it. The contact draws an impromptu squeak out of her, one which stretches out into a low, breathless moan as his hand begins to work her harder, his knuckles pushing the silk of her underwear roughly aside and pressing against her labia. Her clit.

She can feel the fabric digging into her thigh and arse and it feels fucking divine.

He grips her hair again, pulls her roughly up to him. His kiss is harsh. Wild. Their tongues slide and slick against one another's, matching the movements of his fingers. The movements of her hips. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth and then bites down-Hard. The sensation makes her grunt and this time she gives in to temptation and presses herself fully against him. She's so wet she's practically dripping: He darts two more fingers inside her, pinches her clit between thumb and forefinger and the juxtaposition makes her see stars-

"Jesus fucking Christ," she hisses, letting her head fall back.

"You said it, my child," he hisses, "now let's get on with the sinning..."

And he kisses her again, his big, hot body crowding against her. She can feel herself giving in, just like always with him, her hips pressing against his hand until she's thrusting lewdly against him, her mouth falling open and her breath turning so loud it's embarrassing. Wanton. It makes her sound like a whore but she doesn't care.

_She never cares, when she's doing this with him._

"That's it," he mutters against her lips, "that's it, princess. You take what you need, you fuck yourself good and proper on my hand. Those bloodless little posh boys who chase you never know how to please you, do they? Do they?" She shakes her head helplessly. "But I do- Don't I?"

"Yes," she breathes out. "Oh God, Christ yes, you do...you do... "

And he kisses her again, swallowing any further answers. Helpless, writhing, she pulls him tightly to her, legs coming up to wrap around his waist and drag him harshly against her throbbing cunt until her wetness slicks the fabric of his fly. His crotch. Her fingers slide beneath the waist of his trousers and underwear to dig into that perfect, peach-like arse of his, to pull him more tightly to her. Soon they're a knot of need and want, of moans and tongues and cries and nearly-nearly-nearly-there-pleasure-

And then suddenly, maddeningly, without any warning he pulls away. Yanks her off the sink-top.

He turns her roughly around and pushes her forward, making her brace herself on the sink's edge with her hands.

She has to kick off her remaining shoe just to keep her balance.

Kicking lightly at her ankles, he forces her legs further apart. Pushes his hand back between them and slides his fingers inside her again. Without asking permission he bunches her skirt up around her waist then slides down the zipper of her dress with his free hand. Yanks the sleeves down over her shoulders before reaching inside the bodice and pulling down her bra-straps and cups too.

Her breasts tumble loose and he meets her gaze in the bathroom mirror.

"That's better," he mutters. His smile is sharp and gorgeous. "Isn't that better, princess?" She nods helplessly. "Isn't it better now you look like you're mine?"

She tries to find her voice. "But, but, I look like a slag..."

His lets out a bark of laughter. "Exactly." Another nip at her neck. He pinches her nipple sharply. "Which is why, little girl, I'm going to fuck you good and proper, like the slag you are..."

And he starts licking and sucking along her neck. Her shoulders. Moulding one breast in his hand, pinching it. Leaving love-bites all over her, marking her as his. _His._

Molly's cheeks colour, the feeling of being so utterly exposed making tension tighten in her belly: He's got one hand full of her breasts and the other full of her cunt: If there were a way for this to be more filthier, she can't think of it right now. She meets his eyes in the mirror but when she opens her mouth to speak he takes his hand from her breast, slaps her backside sharply. Once. Twice. Three times. It stings.

She hisses at the feel of it and he does it again- Despite her protests he knows how much she likes it.

"Lean forward," he snaps, grinning at her in the mirror. "You wanted a fucking- You take it like a good girl." He nips at her shoulder, licking the flesh there. "Or don't you want a good fucking, hmm?" he murmurs against her. "Don't you want Daddy to give you what you need?"

"No." She shakes her head helplessly. "Yes- I mean, I mean-" She can't gather her thoughts together, not when they're doing this. "Please," that's all she can manage, "Please don't... Please, please don't stop..."

His grin widens. "That's my girl." Another slap to her backside, then another. These blows are harder, they warm her skin and make her moan. "You earn your pleasure," he's saying. "You earn _me_ , you earn my cock. Show me how much you want it..."

And he kisses her roughly again before she can answer. Pushes her against the sink-top again, grinding himself against her as she meets his gaze in the mirror. He opens his fly, takes his cock out; Molly can see the thick, bulbous head in the mirror and despite herself her cunt starts throbbing even harder than before.

She makes to move, tries to reach for him but he slaps her hand away. Instead he turns her chin, presses his fingers inside her mouth. "Suck," he orders and she does as he tells her, working her tongue wetly to coat his fingers. Hollowing her cheeks as he croons filthy encouragements in her ear. As he speaks, he takes the hand that was inside her and he's strokes it along his length, slicking himself with her juices; When he thinks it sufficiently wet he takes his hand from her mouth, slides it sharply along his length too.

He tugs himself roughly a few times until he's gone from half-mast to solid and then with strong, sure hands he drags her to him, sliding himself slowly along the seam of her arse. His fingers trace the puckered, tight hole of her anus and she shivers. Whimpers. Drops her head in submission.

"I could fuck that tight little arsehole of yours and you'd let me, wouldn't you?" he whispers, watching her in the mirror.

Despite her embarrassment, Molly gulps. Nods helplessly.

 _There's no good in lying, not to him._ _**Not ever to him.**_

"But you wouldn't like that, would you?" he continues, his voice dark as whisky. "No, it's your sweet, juicy little cunt you want stuffed, isn't it?" He slides his cock more harshly against her. "Isn't it?" She nods. "Say the words." Another slap to her bare backside. Another slide of his cock against her entrance. "Say it-"

"Yes," she gasps, bucking against him. She doesn't think she's ever felt so turned on before. "I want- I need- Please, oh please fuck me. Please, give me your cock."

She sees him smile in the mirror. "That's it, my sweet, filthy girl. That's it, my little Molly."

And without another word, he pulls her underwear sideways and braces himself against her. She feels the head of him at her entrance and without being told to she lowers herself. Puts her weight onto her outstretched arms and tips her arse up for him.

She wants so badly to have him inside her that she doesn't care what it takes.

He begins slowly, thrusting shallowly but with increasing power. She has to brace herself with all her strength to withstand the force of it: with each snap of his hips he seems to push himself further inside her.

Soon she feels absolutely stuffed with him, so full she can't remember where he begins and where she ends. So filled up with him that he's all she can see, feel, hear. The sound of his flesh slapping against hers, the feel his balls against her arse, these are the only things that are real. These are the only things that she's interested in. His grunts are loud. Filthy. Animal. Delicious- _Everything about this is filthy and animal and delicious_ -

The thought of that sends her first orgasm fluttering through her, even as she moans louder and begs him for more.

It seems to last forever, the push, the press, the slide of it. Molly knows from past experience that he can stay hard for an awfully long time- He's proven that to her before and doubtless he'll prove it again. But she, she hasn't the strength to hold off. She hasn't the discipline- _Nor the desire for it._ It doesn't take much to finish her: he tugs her hair and pushes himself inside her with a grunt and suddenly she's trembling. Tumbling off the precipice. She's falling into perdition and loving her descent.

"It feels like flying," she mutters… Down, she goes, down, down, down and shattering- shattering- _Shattered-_

When her orgasm finally comes it's so sharp, so all-encompassing, that it takes her breath away.

He's not yet finished though: He braces himself against her, his movements turning jerky. Desperate. He bites down roughly on her shoulder once more, tearing at her dress, and as she moans for him the sound tips him over, just the sound of him had done for her. She feels him jerk, hears him hiss, and then he's coming inside her, the warmth and wetness of it exquisite. The sensation of his juices sluicing down her legs would almost be enough to make her come again, if she weren't already feeling so over-sensitive.

"Christ," he murmurs. He sounds utterly exhausted and utterly amazed. "Christ, princess, what the fuck is it that you do to me?"

She turns in his arms. Kisses him softly. Tenderly. "The same thing that you do to me- darling."

And then she wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer than she's ever let anyone else before.

He doesn't complain.

* * *

Molly has no idea how long they stay there, a tangle of arms and legs and satiation. A picture of lust personified and lust completely fulfilled.

Eventually though, she has to straighten up- She's getting a cramp. She also suspects the patrons of the club might like to use the bathroom again.

At her movement he pulls himself out of her, tucks himself neatly away with sure, unfussy movements. This time when he places her on the sink-top he's gentle: he tucks her breasts back into her bra, pulls her zip up. He pulls down her skirt and smoothes her hair. Kisses her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth- He slips her shoes back onto her feet, making her feel, oddly, like Cinderella.

_But then, he's always been Prince Charming- At least to her._

With each action, his hands become more gentle. More tender. When she finally stands, her knees wobbly, he tips her chin up and kisses her. It's long and slow and hot and unutterably, unbearably, undeniably sweet.

_She feels absolutely lovely as he does it._

And then, because it's him, she feels his hands slide under her skirt, up to her waist. They trace the edge of her knickers and then slowly pull them down. Molly feels the silk move over the swell of her hips, her arse, only to puddle at her feet- It makes her feel ridiculously bare, in a way nothing they've done yet has-

Without saying anything, he reaches down and, once she steps out of them, picks the knickers up. Stuffs them in his trousers pocket.

Again, he shoots her that sinful, cocky grin.

"I want to know you're walking through my club without them," he whispers in her ear. "I want to know you'll be sitting in the cab on the ride home with your bare arse flush against the leather and your cunt wet, thinking of me." He kisses the tip of her nose. "So I'll be keeping these here and you'll be going without- _Princess._ "

And without another word he turns on his tail and heads back out into the nightclub.

He doesn't look at her as he goes, but then she doesn't expect him to.

* * *

Three days later she wakes up to find her her silk knickers on her pillow, as well as a single red rose.

Sherlock's in the bed beside her, bereft of his criminal regalia (having finally finished his case) but no less delicious for that.

When he hears her moving he opens his eyes. Smiles at her sleepily. "Good morning princess," he says and Molly can't help her grin…

"Good morning, husband," she tells him as she pulls him into her arms and they start back where they left off...


End file.
